The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

  Some of them were easy to understand how they were used. There was a barrel shaped horse and a spanking bench that sort of reminded me of a small, padded picnic table. He’d already done a more traditional cross, and then something labeled a milking table, which was long and padded, had a hole cut out of the center of it, and sat on top of a cage.

  I got how the kneeler and the item described as Catherine’s wheel worked, but what was a queening chair? The licking bench looked complicated, and I couldn’t figure out who went where or what was even being licked. His portfolio was full of gorgeous pictures of furniture, showing off his high-quality work, but having a model in some of the images would have been helpful.

  My curiosity carried me back toward the order form. The price tag for the stocks he was building was seven hundred dollars. The figure didn’t surprise me.

  Clay may have used math to build it, but his architecture was more like art to me.

  Noir had finished exploring the rest of the room, and she cautiously prowled toward the cross, eyeing it with skepticism. She sniffed it once, slinked around one of the beams, and then stretched up, latching her claws into the leather.

  “Noir, no!” I cried, scooping her up into my arms, and extracted her claws as delicately as I could. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like she’d damaged the leather; I’d gotten her just in time. From now on, I’d make sure to keep her out of here and the door to the basement closed.

  She squirmed in my hold, since she was a cat and preferred her independence, and reluctantly I made my way to the stairs.

  It was then that I noticed there were thick planks of wood standing upright, resting against the wall, like they’d been stained and then left there to dry. Only one of them was on the floor at a strange angle. The board must have slipped.

  “That’s what fell,” I told the cat.

  She didn’t care. Noir was far more interested in being released. I hurried up the stairs, closed the door, and set her down. She skittered away, temporarily annoyed with me for confining her.

  My gaze drifted back to the door, and my mind wandered down to what Clay was building in his workshop. He’d made pieces of restraint and confinement, and—fuck—it was so sexy. I wouldn’t be annoyed with him if he wanted to confine me . . .

  In fact, I was sure I’d be thrilled.

  Saturday morning, I had a shift at the clinic, as did my best friend Cassidy Sheppard. We’d meet two years ago when she began interning, and although she was a lot younger than I was, age was simply a number when it came to her. She’d turn twenty-one in a few months, but I’d swear she was in her thirties, maturity-wise.

  Cassidy was an old soul, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Her boyfriend was in his early forties.

  I spent the afternoon desperately fighting back the desire to tell her what I’d found in Clay’s basement. It wasn’t that I worried she’d judge him. I mean, she got up to all kinds of shenanigans with Dr. Lowe—or Daddy, as I sometimes called him. I’d sort-of-jokingly-but-also-seriously nicknamed him that behind his back, which she hated, but then again, she was sleeping with a guy who happened to be her ex’s father.

  I didn’t confess my discovery to my friend because every time I thought about it, a voice in my head would pipe up.

  Clay’s a private person, it scolded.

  So, I kept it a secret, no matter how much I was dying to talk about it with her. Plus, I didn’t tell her how I’d spent last night studying every piece of BDSM furniture in his portfolio. Or how this morning I’d devised a plan to broach the subject with him next time I saw him.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Cassidy asked me as she finished wiping down the table in exam room two. Had she sensed the excitement I was trying to hide, or was she simply making conversation? Daddy wasn’t on-call this weekend, and that was such a rare thing, I knew she’d be occupied.

  “Not sure.” I played it cool. “I might go over to Clay’s.”

  She stopped what she was doing so she could stare at me like I’d just said I hated wearing heels. “You’re going to spend your Saturday night alone with your cat?”

  A sly smile curled on my lips. “Hopefully not alone. Clay got back last night.”

  “Oh, I see.” She grinned. “I’d say good luck, but I doubt you’ll need it.”

  “Meaning?”

  Cassidy tossed the paper towel in the trash can, and then made a production out of looking me over. “You asked a stranger if he wanted to own a cat with you, and he said yes. Trust me, he’s interested.”

  “That’s the thing, though. I can’t tell if he is.”

  She turned skeptical. “You’re super hot.”

  “Thanks.” I laughed lightly. “Except I’ve been super hot for the past year, and he never noticed me before,” I mused.

  She was well aware of the way I’d lusted over Clay when he first moved in, and she shrugged. “I am kind of surprised the cat made a move on him before you did.”

  Cassidy had a point. Usually, if I saw something I wanted, I went for it. “Maybe I’ve been playing the long game with him.”

  She feigned seriousness. “Uh-huh, sure.”

  It reinforced my plan for this evening, and once my shift was over and I was seated in my car, I thumbed out a text message to Clay.

  Me: Hey! Is it cool if I stop by for a visit?

  Clay: Yeah. I won’t be home until later.

  I frowned. That wasn’t part of the plan.

  Me: Hot date?

  As soon as I sent it, my frown deepened, because now I was terrified I’d just made it weird, or worse—he’d tell me the answer was yes.

  Clay: Ha ha. I’m in Smyrna, picking up cabinets.

  I brightened with relief. Smyrna was only thirty minutes away. I could make that work.

  Me: Okay. I might still be there when you get home.

  He sent me a thumbs-up emoji, and I grinned wickedly to myself.

  It was June, and already one of the hottest summers on record for Nashville, and yet I shivered.

  I was sitting on the leather wingback chair in Clay’s study, the one that had wooden armrests, and it was directly under an air conditioning vent, so the frigid air was blasting me. Also not helping my situation . . . I was naked except for my favorite pair of high-heeled sandals. The sexy black straps crisscrossed over my feet and all the way up to my ankles.

  I’d been seated like this for a while, sitting in the chair with my legs crossed and my dark brown hair loose around my shoulders as I waited for Clay to return home. Noir had come to say hello to me, but once the air kicked on, she slinked away in search of a less drafty place.

  This was risky plan, and I’d been shivering long enough in my spot to begin to second-guess myself. It could backfire and embarrass me, but at the same time, I thought it was unlikely. Clay was attracted to me. He’d said I was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and his desire had been unmistakable the night I’d talked him into adopting Noir.

  He wanted me. He just needed a little push.

  And I’d make it as easy and clear as possible I wanted him, too.

  I had confidence, but it threatened to run away from me the moment I heard the mechanical hum of the garage door. The sound came from all the way across the house, which meant I had time. I could grab my stack of clothes and dart into the hall bathroom, then emerge once I was dressed. Clay would never know I’d been naked in his study, my bare skin pressed to his leather chair.

  A door opened, and the alarm system chirped.

  Footsteps crossed the tile floor of his kitchen, followed by a clatter as keys were dropped on a counter. Then, silence . . . as if he had paused.

  “Lilith?”

  No turning back now. I straightened my posture, lifted my chin, and spoke like my heart wasn’t threatening to beat out of my chest. “I’m in here.”

  Clay followed my voice, his feet carrying him down the hall toward the study. I sucked in a preparing br
eath, leaned an elbow casually on an armrest, and curled my lips into a provocative smile.

  When he stepped into view, every muscle in my body tightened. He wore a simple gray t-shirt, jeans, and his sexy black-rimmed glasses. Shit, he looked good. But he pulled up short at the sight of me.

  His eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open, but he didn’t produce a single sound. It was like everything in him had shut down and quit working, including his brain.

  “Hey, neighbor.” My tone was sultry. “Welcome home.”

  He didn’t blink, and his chest wasn’t moving. Had he forgotten how to breathe? Everything inside me buzzed, thrilled at how I’d stunned him speechless.

  I’d hoped to surprise him, and I certainly had, but . . .

  It had been cold under the vent, and the longer he stood there and stared at me without moving or saying a word, the worse the chill on my skin became. Time dragged, and dragged, and I swallowed thickly.

  “Clay,” I whispered, “are you okay?”

  Behind his glasses, his eyes clouded over before his gaze dropped to the floor. “What happened to your clothes?”

  I wasn’t prepared for his harsh tone, and it cut through me like a knife. Of all the different emotions I’d anticipated, anger hadn’t been one of them.

  “I . . .” My confidence tumbled off a cliff, and I shot to my feet, blood rushing hotly to my face. “I thought you’d like this, but I must have misread the situation. I’m sorry.”

  I reached for my clothes on the desk, but his sharp command froze me into place. “Stop.”

  The stillness of the room was oppressive, and I was sure if he didn’t say anything else, I’d be frozen like this forever with breath halted in my lungs.

  “You thought,” his voice was as precise as the blueprints spread out on his drafting table, “that I’d like this? Seeing you naked?”

  Oh, God. My mouth went bone dry, preventing me from speaking.

  When he lifted his gaze to mine, it rose slowly up the length of my body, evaluating each curve and every inch of bare flesh.

  “You’re right,” he said finally. “I like it a lot.” His expression heated as he took a step closer, but he arched a disapproving eyebrow. “But I don’t do well with surprises. I don’t like the unexpected.”

  I had no idea what to say. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  He acted like he hadn’t heard me, because his expression remained stern. “I don’t like my plans being disrupted.”

  It bubbled up out of habit. “I’m sorry.”

  “And I had plans for you. This,” his gaze swept over my nude form, “is way ahead of my schedule.”

  If he had sounded playful or teasing, I would have laughed with nervous excitement—but he hadn’t. If anything, his tone hinted at his annoyance, and it had a strange effect. I was eager to please him, to alleviate his irritation with me, even when I had no fucking idea how. I was already naked and throwing myself at him. It spun me for a loop that he was upset about it. Especially when he’d said he had plans for me and getting naked was on his schedule.

  I crossed an arm over my stomach and gripped my elbow, wanting to reach for him but unsure of how he’d feel about it. I regrouped, shifted on my heels, and let go of my elbow so I could put my hand on my hip.

  “Oh, yeah?” I tried to achieve the same sultry tone I’d used earlier. “And did your plans include us going downstairs to your workshop?”

  My question caught him so off-guard he reared back a step and tension flooded through his frame. “Excuse me?”

  Oh, shit. I’d misread his reaction. He wasn’t surprised by my question—he was offended.

  His eyes narrowed, and I shrank perfectly in time with them. My brain fumbled and searched for a way to fix it. “It’s beautiful, you know,” I said quickly. “The cross you’ve built, and all of the—”

  “I don’t remember giving you permission to go into my basement.” He was hard and cold, even as his eyes burned with outrage. “That’s my private space, and you had no right to be there.”

  “That’s not entirely true.” I didn’t like his accusation. “You kept the door closed, and I respected that all week, until I couldn’t avoid it. Yesterday, when I was over here, there was a huge crash, and I needed to make sure something terrible hadn’t happened.”

  He paused. “What?”

  “Those boards you’d left leaning up against the wall? One of them fell over. I had no idea what that sound was, so you can’t blame me for checking it out. What if it had been part of the ceiling falling or a beam collapsing or something?”

  Clay’s gaze slid away from me as he considered this new information. We had to look ridiculous, me standing there buck naked in his study while he was fully clothed.

  “I wasn’t snooping, I promise,” I added. “I was trying to be helpful. Trying to be good.”

  He repeated the word like it was unfamiliar. “Good.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t plan to go down there and find your workshop, but”—I shrugged—“you can’t blame me for looking. I was interested. Don’t worry, I didn’t touch anything, even though I wanted to.”

  He looked at me cautiously, unsure if I was telling him the truth.

  “And I’ll say it again.” I wanted him to hear the honesty in my words. “The stuff you’ve built? It’s gorgeous. Like, the fucking sexiest art I’ve ever seen.”

  His shoulders lifted as he drew in a deep breath, and when he pushed his glasses back on his nose, Clay seemed to collect himself. My compliment had a powerful effect on him, which he tried not to show. He straightened. “It’s not art.”

  “Why not? Because it serves a function?” I smiled wickedly. “Okay. Let’s go downstairs and you can show me.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, mostly to muffle the “fuck” he muttered under his breath, but the action gave him back some of the control he’d lost. Curiosity lurked in his expression. “You’d be up for that?”

  When I nodded, he walked the few steps toward me until there was no space left between us, and he peered down with a discerning look. The shift in him strengthened until power radiated from him. It was formed like a question, but it rang in my ears as a demand. “Can I touch you?”

  I nodded.

  Rather than put his arms around me, he slid one of his hands into the hair at the nape of my neck, cradling the back of my head and angling it up. His voice was as smooth as warm honey. “You want me to strap you to the cross and do what, exactly?”

  His gaze traced over the curves of my face before landing on my lips. My pulse raced, and he was so close, I could barely breathe.

  “You can do whatever you want to,” I uttered.

  “Hmm.” It was the perfect answer because sinful darkness danced in his eyes. “Maybe I want to punish you for screwing up my plan.”

  Did he mean his plan of getting me naked?

  The air in his study was thick with lust, and Clay’s strong hand cupping the back of my head made it hard to think straight. I pictured myself in cuffs, bound to his beautiful St. Andrew’s cross downstairs while he teased and tortured.

  He tilted his head a single degree, adjusting to a better angle to plant his lips over mine. “Would you like that?”

  My body was clamoring for it. “Yes.”

  A smile curved his mouth. He already knew my answer. “Is that what you need? A little bit of discipline?”

  Awareness lurked in the back of my mind. He was older and obviously more experienced, but my eagerness made me ignore the warning. I was hungry for his kiss, looking forward to whatever punishment he wanted to dole out. “Yes,” I whispered.

  He slid his hand away and stepped back so abruptly, I swayed at the sudden absence of him.

  “All right.” His tone was cool and indifferent. “Then, you’ll get dressed right now and go home.”

  FOUR

  My heart thudded to a stop. One second ago, Clay’s lips had been a scant inch from mine, and
now he was gone.

  “What?”

  He said it plainly. “You wanted to be punished. I’m punishing you,” he casually tossed a hand toward me, gesturing to my nakedness, “and I don’t want to encourage this behavior.”

  My body refused to move, so I stood there dumbfounded and with my mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  No, he certainly didn’t.

  His expression was fixed, and all the heat between us dissipated in an instant. My brain couldn’t process what had just happened. How had he turned himself off so quickly? Disappointment descended on me like an avalanche, and hot irritation quickly followed.

  I closed my mouth with an audible snap, and as I reached for my clothes in a huff, the last thing I expected to hear from him was a deep, satisfied chuckle. But that was what he did, and the sinful sound reverberated through me.

  “Look at you,” he said darkly. “All upset you didn’t get your way.”

  My hands slowed. What the fuck? He was being an asshole, and I glared at him, ready to unleash my tongue—

  “God, you’re even hotter when you pout.” Seduction threaded his voice. “You’re so fucking hot, Lilith, I can’t even stand it.”

  What?

  He gave me emotional whiplash, and I blinked rapidly, trying to understand him. But it was impossible because he stared at me now like a starving man, his expression dripping with desire, and all thoughts emptied out of my mind.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he declared. “Turn around. Put your knees on the seat of the chair.”

  I was still processing his command when he grasped my elbow and guided me to the leather wingback chair I’d been sitting on when he came home. He set his fingertips on my back and eased me forward, until I had my knees buried in the cushion and my forearms draped over the top of the chair.

  It caused an arch in my back, and my bare bottom jutted out toward Clay, and he skated a finger along my spine, tracing a line from my shoulders to my hips. And then his featherlight touch was gone.